


lay with me, lie to me

by circusclown



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Valve Fingering (Transformers), a lot is happening here - Freeform, for A Day. one (1)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circusclown/pseuds/circusclown
Summary: As Starscream softly bites into his neck, Wheeljack isn’t sure how they managed to get here so quickly. He relives their conversation in his mind. One minute Starscream’s animatedly telling him how stressed he is, how he wishes he had something to alleviate it. Wheeljack teases the concept as a joke, not expecting Starscream to reply with a ‘Why not, next week at mine?’That was a month ago. They’ve been at it once a week since, same time, same place. It’s… becoming familiar, now, and Wheeljack doesn’t know how to feel about that. About how his instincts are telling him to relax into the hands currently trailing up his back, palms smoothing over the expanse.
Relationships: Starscream/Wheeljack
Comments: 20
Kudos: 126





	lay with me, lie to me

“No kissing,” Starscream instructs, counting the rules on his fingers, “no touching my wings. Actually, let’s just keep all touches to a minimum. Nothing… _intimate,”_ he practically shudders as he says the word. “And, for the love of God, if you ever use the term ‘making love’ I don’t think I’ll be able to speak to you again.”

Wheeljack nods along with the instructions, letting himself be pulled down into the berth. It’s extravagant—exactly what he’d expect of Starscream. Ginormous, and fixed to an ornamental headboard, gold with red stones like his crown. The sheets are shiny, and plush, and Wheeljack is momentarily embarrassed at the thought of Starscream seeing his own berth, tiny and coverless. 

“That sound alright to you?” he asks, already spreading his legs, and Wheeljack is so distracted he realises only a little too late that he’s hurriedly nodding his head.

“Eager, are we?” Starscream laughs, wiggling his thighs. “I suggest you get to it, then.”

* * *

As Starscream softly bites into his neck, Wheeljack isn’t sure how they managed to get here so quickly. He relives their conversation in his mind. One minute Starscream’s animatedly telling him how stressed he is, how he wishes he had something to alleviate it. Wheeljack teases the concept as a joke, not expecting Starscream to reply with a ‘Why not, next week at mine?’

That was a month ago. They’ve been at it once a week since, same time, same place. It’s… becoming familiar, now, and Wheeljack doesn’t know how to feel about that. About how his instincts are telling him to relax into the hands currently trailing up his back, palms smoothing over the expanse. Starscream slides them up higher, tracing the edge of one of Wheeljack’s wings. Tiny in comparison to Starscream’s, but nonetheless sensitive. He shivers, and Starscream lets out a breathy laugh. 

“What even is the purpose of these?” he asks, and Wheeljack presses into Starscream’s neck and groans at what is possibly his least favorite question to receive. 

“They’re just decorative. They don’t have a purpose.” 

Starscream lets out an even louder laugh at that, and Wheeljack leans up on one of his hands. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just—” he laughs again, and Wheeljack frowns, “like, just from your personality, I’d never take you for someone who modifies their frame with decorations _just because,”_ he says, poking one of Wheeljack’s finials to make a point. “How many purely decorative modifications do you even have?”

Wheeljack doesn’t reply, sinking against Starscream and completely ignoring their previous topic in favor of brushing a hand up Starscream’s thigh. He’s distracting him—trying to, trying to distract himself, as well. Thinking about how they’d gone from each other’s opposition, to acquaintances, to—to whatever this was now, fucking each other once a week and reflecting on what seemed like predictable behaviours regarding their personalities, because they knew each other, now. Because it was never just fucking once a week, it was conversations, and all the rest of it. He’s learned more about Starscream in the last month than he had in those four million years previously, and it scares him. Nobody ever got to know things about Starscream. 

The way Starscream is now essentially massaging into his stiff wires definitely goes against the minimal touches rule, but Wheeljack doesn’t comment on it, focusing his attention on trying not to melt into the berth, into Starscream laid out beneath him.

“Enough of that. Just let me take care of you, yeah? S’what I’m here for,” Wheeljack says, keeping the emotion out of his voice as much as possible. “You gonna open for me?”

Starscream complies, resting his head back into the pillow as Wheeljack eases a finger into him. He wants to take his time, to stroke against Starscream’s folds, to watch him come undone gradually, as if in slow motion. He shakes that fantasy out of his head, it’s not what Starscream’s after. It’s too intimate. He feels guilty thinking about those things— _wanting_ those things, from someone who had sown so much evil in those millions of years they’d been at war. His friends had died at Starscream’s hand. But it always felt so far away, such a distant memory, when Starscream was writhing beneath him, moaning, begging to be fucked harder, overloading around Wheeljack’s spike.

“God, hurry up and fuck me already,” Starscream urges, and just like that, the veneer of Wheeljack’s reverie slips away, completely out of grasp. 

He averts his gaze, trying to focus on anything but Starscream as he lines himself up, pushes in to the hilt. He gives what can’t be more than two shallow thrusts before Starscream is already digging his heels into Wheeljack’s legs, and it’s less an encouragement—it’s never an encouragement—and more a demand. A prerequisite. Hard, and fast, and despite how much Wheeljack just wants to fuck him tenderly, with a gentle care, he obliges, resting one hand on the headboard as he roughly fucks into him. Anything else would be too honest, too personal. 

Wheeljack is almost glad that kissing is explicitly off the table, that he can keep his faceplate shut. He’s sure that his emotions are written all over his face, and he briefly wonders what his friends from the war would think about his current arrangement.

He’s not even sure how he feels about it. Having casual sex with Starscream is one thing, one thing that still seems incredulous to him at times. But wanting more… that was something else entirely. His tanks churn at the thought of his disconcerting feelings toward Starscream, and he tries to push it out of his head before it becomes obvious his mind is elsewhere.

Too late. Starscream clicks his fingers in Wheeljack’s face, “Hello?” he calls, and then a slighty softer, “Is this alright?”

Wheeljack ignores the way his spark stutters at the intonation, and doesn’t respond verbally; instead he pulls Starscream closer, gripping around his waist so he can thrust into him harder. 

“Fuck,” Starscream moans, wrapping his legs tighter around Wheeljack’s waist, and for a moment it’s bliss. He loves hearing Starscream during sex, even if some nights all he gets are quiet gasps and pants. It spurs him on, and he’s plunging into him at this point, desperate to hear him again.

He moans once more, and Wheeljack can’t help himself. “Louder,” he says, hitting a low note with his voice, and he can feel Starscream’s valve pulse around him at his words. 

“Maybe if you, ah! fuck me harder, you’ll give me a reason to be—nnff—louder,” Starscream challenges, trying to meet Wheeljack thrust for thrust.

Lifting up Starscream’s hips, he begins to drive into him, biting back a groan. It gets him the reaction he’s after, Starscream keens, and Wheeljack notices the telltale signs that he’s about to overload from his breathy pants to the rhythmic pulsing of his valve. 

It’s only a few moments later until Starscream is overloading with a choked off cry, dropping his legs from around Wheeljack’s waist. Wheeljack pulls out and winces as he manually closes his panel, scrambling off the berth as quickly as possible.

“But you didn’t…” Starscream trails off, looking up at Wheeljack from where he was still splayed out on the bed. 

“Doesn’t matter. I better go,” he says, and he leaves out the fact it’s virtually pointless anyway, by the time he gets home he’s always so worked up from thinking about their trysts he has to get himself off again. No matter which direction the night went in, he’d be finishing in his hand, at home, his mind full of the way Starscream felt, and sounded, and just—and just Starscream. 

Starscream stiffens, before relaxing, returning to nonchalance .“At least let me—”

“Starscream, it’s fine,” he replies, and it comes out harsher than he meant it to, but anything else would have him worried that he’d reveal too much, that Starscream would push him away. 

“You can—you can stay.”

“No, Starscream. I don’t think that’s wise.”

“We’ll continue this next week?” Starscream asks, and Wheeljack forces himself to not turn and look back at him, because he knows it’ll be that much harder to leave.

“Gotcha.”

* * *

Starscream strolls into Wheeljack’s lab like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Wheeljack stands a little straighter, abandoning his project at the worktop. 

“Starscream! Is everythin’, uh, alright?”

“Mhm,” he hums, walking over to Wheeljack so he can lower his voice, “I just need—”

“—a distraction?” Wheeljack finishes quietly. 

“Exactly.”

“I’d be happy to assist,” he says, and it isn’t a lie. It’s just that every single interaction with Starscream manifests in deep seated feelings. Confusing feelings. Feelings that Wheeljack has never felt—that he hadn’t thought were possible, at least not with Starscream. Every time Starscream had made it a point, a declaration, that kisses were off the table. This wasn’t intimacy; it was stress relief. It was that, for Wheeljack, every touch made his spark flutter, and for Starscream, it was merely a distraction. That, even now, meeting during work hours didn’t mean work, or a friendly chat. 

Starscream hops up onto the worktop, side-eyeing the equipment strewn about around him. 

“Here?” Wheeljack asks, because it seems so… improper. They hadn’t had sex anywhere but the elaborate magnificence of Starscream’s bedroom, and now Starscream was ready to fuck ten centimetres away from hazardous chemicals and tools, on a lab table that has seen thousands of experiments and as such is covered in a permanent layer of grime.

“I need it,” Starscream sighs, “now.”

Wheeljack doesn’t think about how much he wants Starscream to say ‘I need _you_ now,’ because he can’t. He can’t let himself. He’d be disgusted that something so vulgarly sentimental about _Starscream_ had slipped into his mind if it wasn’t what had consumed his thoughts over the past two months. 

But, still. Here Starscream was, days before their usual agreed hook-up timeslot, asking for Wheeljack. At his lab. He certainly didn’t think that would abide by Starscream’s careful rules. 

“Okay, well, if you want my spike it’ll have to be… elsewhere. Lab table’s a bit tall, so maybe my desk? Or…” he pauses for a moment, trying to voice out the words welling in his intake, “or I could eat you out like this. Your choice. I know you usually just prefer to get on with it and fuck, but—”

“Both?” Starscream interrupts, and if Wheeljack could trust his instincts right now he’d almost say that Starscream sounded hopeful. But he couldn’t trust his instincts, was the thing, not when his judgment was so clouded with how he felt. 

He bites back his smile, cautious not to show how elated he is, and retracts his faceplate, sliding his hands up Starscream’s thighs as they’re spread for him, panels sliding open. 

Dragging over a stool, he goes to press a kiss against Starscream’s node—then wonders if that’s forbidden territory, if that counts under the no-kissing rule. He opts to bite gently against his thigh instead. He can feel Starscream’s growing impatience, so he nips further up his thigh, smoothing his fingers over some of the wires at the apex.

Grabbing onto Starscream’s thighs so he can pull him closer to the edge of the table, he buries his head between them, wasting no time in thoroughly devouring him. He uses the flat of his tongue at first, until temptation gives way and he presses it into his valve. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he even realises, and Starscream laughs. Wheeljack feels like he’s just admitted his involvement in a crime—relishing in the tastes of one who was once an erstwhile sworn enemy, but he can’t stop himself. He moans against Starscream’s valve, closing his eyes to devote his entire attention to eating him out.

“Look at me,” Starscream says, and it doesn’t carry his usual tone, coming out more like a plea than a command. 

Wheeljack indulges him, making eye contact as he darts his tongue out to flick against Starscream’s node. Starscream shudders, eyes closing for a moment and then opening just as quickly, glancing back down at Wheeljack, trying to grind against his face. 

“More,” he begs, and who is Wheeljack to say no? With Starscream’s thighs braced around his finials, with the way he can feel them shaking slightly. He’s so responsive to every touch Wheeljack makes inside him, against him, that Wheeljack can’t get enough.

And the way he’s looking at him, their eye contact that holds a certain amount of shared intimacy just because it does, it has to. They’re feeding off of each other’s pleasure, and Wheeljack knows it’s clear in his eyes alone just how much he’s enjoying this, with Starscream’s fluids dribbling down his chin.

He brings up two fingers and slides them easily into Starscream’s valve, synchronizing his movements with his tongue, lavishing circles into his node. Curling his fingers inward, he expertly brushes against the inner nodes of Starscream’s valve, ones that he knows are there from experience. Ones that he knows will drive Starscream even closer to his overload.

Wheeljack moves his mouth further down, brushing a thumb over Starscream’s node as he laps at the lubricant steadily dripping from his valve. Starscream whimpers, shaking against his mouth, and Wheeljack nearly thinks he could cum untouched just by listening to the filthy sounds Starscream’s making, the thought only aided by how divinely he tastes.

Starscream overloads then and there, trapping Wheeljack against him with his legs. “Fuck me,” he implores, reaching out to grip onto Wheeljack’s shoulders, “Right now, please, fuck me.”

Wheeljack carries Starscream over to his desk, legs wrapped around his waist, and perches him on the edge, opening his own panels so he can slip his spike swiftly in. 

Starscream lets out a light gasp, airy and barely audible, but Wheeljack revels in it all the same, pulling out so he can push back in again. “Hard?” he asks, breath hot against Starscream’s neck, and he’s met with a nod. He slips his faceplate shut, because resisting the urge to kiss against his neck, to kiss _him,_ was becoming increasingly more difficult by the week.

* * *

“You comm’ed?” 

“Ah, yes, Wheeljack,” Starscream ushers him inside the office, doors sliding shut behind him. “Something rather inconvenient has come up.”

“Oh?”

“I have to go down and visit this planet next week. Boring stuff, but not, you know, a palaver. It’s only a two day visit. However, they won’t accept me bringing along a delegate. They’re expecting… a partner. For me to have—have a partner. I was just wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t mind… accompanying me.”

He’s struggling to even get the words out, and it stings. Starscream clearly wants nothing less than to manufacture a pretend relationship for a mere 48 hours, the embarrassment of hanging off the arm of Wheeljack looks like it’s hardly enough for Starscream to bear. 

Wheeljack knows he should decline, but he’s saying the words before he can stop himself, “Sure. Comm me the details when ya can. Later.”

He leaves Starscream’s office in a hurry and curses himself as soon as the doors close behind him. He could barely get a handle on his feelings when it was just sex; how was he meant to deal with being romantic, even if only for show. He hoped, for his own sake, that the delegates on the planet wouldn’t expect anything overly affectionate. He could stand next to Starscream, _that_ he could do. Anything else and he didn’t know how he’d control himself.

As he makes his way back to his apartment, his mind wanders to how it would feel to be introduced to people as Starscream’s conjunx. His arm around his waist, going to get Starscream a drink from the bar because he knows his order and—and because he knows his order. It’s one of the many mundane facts he’s learned about Starscream, and he cringes at the fact he’s thought about hypothetically tasting it on Starscream’s tongue more than a few times. And now, perhaps, it was an actual possibility, and Wheeljack feels dizzy with it all.

Opening the door to his apartment, he walks straight over to the couch and flops down into it, resting his head against the back. He’s about to grab a cube when he gets a text from Starscream, containing the information for the trip.

:: Itinerary:

FRIDAY, 8PM: Transport to the planet

SATURDAY, 1PM: Meeting with the delegates

SATURDAY, 9PM: Annual gala

SUNDAY, 2PM: Business meeting, accompaniment still undetermined. ::

Wheeljack reads through it a few times, because while the message is clear regarding their schedule, it says nothing about how they’re supposed to behave around each other. If he’s going to be expected to hold his hand, to kiss him, to truly commit to acting like they’re married, he needs to be able to prepare himself for that. He assumes sex will be some part of it, they’ve been hooking up more often as the weeks pass by. 

He bites his lip, already feeling himself growing hard at the thought of doing all those things with Starscream, and sighs. He’s never felt more pathetic, getting off to the thought of domesticity with Starscream of all people, but opens his panels anyway, letting his spike pressurize into his hand. 

It doesn’t take long until he’s overloading to the thought of fucking Starscream into the hotel bed, and then he _really_ feels like a lost cause. He makes his way to the shower to clean off, and that certainly doesn’t help, and he wishes, just once, that his thoughts would clear. Just for a moment.

* * *

The transport does indeed pick him up at 8 o’clock sharp, a sleek shuttle—private, just for the two of them. 

“Want a cube? Or some high grade?” Starscream asks, sauntering over to the bar placed smack bang in the middle of their transportation. 

“Uh, I don’t mind. I’ll have whatever.”

Starscream passes him a glass of something, translucent and bubbly, and it fizzes pleasantly against his tongue. “Nice,” he comments, mainly to himself, as he’s sure Starscream really couldn’t care less. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Starscream says, sending him a small smile. 

They sit in silence for a while, sipping intermittently at their drinks. 

“We should be there in an hour.”

Wheeljack nods in acknowledgement. “Look, Starscream, I was wonderin’,” he lets out shakily, fiddling with the chute of his glass, “this whole, y’know, pretendin’ to be conjunx thing. What, uh, what are we actually gonna have to do? Like, how are we gonna act.”

“Ah, that. Yeah, they seem to have a similar culture surrounding marriage as, um, as we do. So they’ll be expecting, you know. That,” he says, gesturing with his hands, as he walks closer to Wheeljack.“It’ll probably just entail the usual. Holding hands, arms around waists, looking lovingly into each others eyes…” he mimics it as he says it, his gaze deep and longing as his eyes bore into Wheeljack’s, and then Starscream’s laughing loudly at the absurdity of it all—because it is absurd, _it is._

Wheeljack laughs back, nervously, and Starscream seems to catch on. “The rules will have to be… postponed for the time being. I can’t promise anything, they might be expecting us to… kiss, at some point, so if that’s going to be a problem—”

“No,” Wheeljack says, a little too quickly, “no I—I thought you were going to have a problem with that. That’s why I wanted to, y’know. Make sure we were clear.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for the remainder of the journey, but it doesn’t feel awkward, or stagnant. It’s a comfortable sort of silence—which in itself holds a certain amount of discomfort for Wheeljack. 

Their shuttle boards, and Wheeljack is glad there’s no one there to meet them as they step out onto the planet. They won’t be meeting the delegates until tomorrow, and fortunately the shuttle managed to land right outside the hotel. 

The receptionist looks up eagerly as they enter the hotel lobby, standing up at the front desk. “Lord Starscream. Wheeljack,” she nods, “Welcome. We hope you enjoy your stay here. This is your room key, you’re in the suite at the very top. Enjoy, Sirs.”

Wheeljack thanks her and they stroll over to the elevator, stepping inside as he presses the button for their floor. 

“There’s one thing we’ve never done,” Starscream says, and Wheeljack looks at him questioningly, waiting for him to elaborate, “fucked in an elevator.”

“Mm, I dunno.” Wheeljack motions to the ceiling of the lift, “there’s probably a camera up there. Not sure how they’d feel watchin’ the emperor of Cybertron defile the hotel elevator.”

Starscream hooks his fingers into Wheeljack’s chest plating, pulling him closer. “I’m not sure about that… we’d put on a rather captivating show, don’t you think?” 

Wheeljack watches as Starscream wets his lower lip, hands still curled around his plating, as the doors open out into their hotel room.

“Holy shit,” he blurts, attention drifting to how massive the room was.

“Fancy, huh?” 

“Yeah… shit,” he repeats, pulling out of Starscream’s grasp to wander out of the lift into the middle of the room. Everything was ornate, and meticulously detailed, and Wheeljack feels a little out of place. It was different when he went over to Starscream’s place, because that was just Starscream’s alone. But this… this was to be shared by both of them. 

“Wheeljack!” Starscream calls, “come check out the bedroom!”

He walks into the room and doesn’t know where to look first. It’s huge, and he thinks the bed might even be bigger than Starscream’s. There’s an archway that leads into the most grand washracks he’s ever seen, a long tub placed elegantly in the centre. 

“This is—a lot.”

“I know! Makes the whole thing worth it, almost.”

Wheeljack nods at the words, but looks away, hiding how they managed to prick at his damned feelings. He should know, by now, that Starscream doesn’t feel the same way. Doesn’t spend hours simply imagining what it would be like to press kisses into his jaw, his neck, his lips. This weekend is just an obstacle for Starcream, one of many that comes with being the ruler of an entire planet. 

He turns away from Starscream and falls back onto the bed, letting his eyes close. Moments later he can hear the water running, steam wafting into the room. 

After a few minutes the water stops, and he opens one eye, reluctantly getting up off of the bed. “Starscream?” he calls, walking over to the archway. 

“Care to join me?” Starscream asks, leaning over the tub as he pours in sacrilegious amounts of bubble bath. 

“If you’re offerin’.”

Starscream takes both of Wheeljack’s hands and pulls him forward, dropping a hand to steady himself against the tub as he gets in. “Come on, there’s plenty of room for both of us.”

Wheeljack follows, stabling himself against Starscream’s arm as he climbs in, letting go to lean against the back of the bath, sitting opposite Starscream.

Inhaling, he raises a brow ridge. “Did you put somethin’ in this? Other than the bubbles.”

“Lavender oil,” Starscream informs him, “Like it?”

“Never had it,” he says, swirling a finger around in the water, “but yeah. It’s relaxin’.” He can feel the ongoing aches in his struts lessen, warm solvent and oil encased around him.

Starscream smiles, slightly looming over him—he can’t fit the full width of his wings in the bath, so he’s kneeling as they rest against the tip of the tub. 

“Comfortable?” Wheeljack asks, because he doubts it, and because he doesn’t want their conversation to fall away. He’s met with a shrug, wings clanging down against the bath as he moves.

“C’mere,” he beckons, sitting up straighter in the water, and Starscream walks over on his knees, straddling Wheeljack’s lap. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Wheeljack replies, arms hanging helplessly limp at his sides under the water, even though he craves—desperately—to touch him. 

“Could you—” Starscream starts, “I mean, would you mind—?”

“Hm?” Wheeljack asks, looking up at Starscream. He temporarily gets a little lost in the ruby glow of his eyes, having to force himself to listen to what Starscream is telling him.

“This part of my back, here,” he lifts one of Wheeljack’s hands up from where it was hidden beneath the bubbles and places it against his back, just below the base of his wings, “I can’t reach it properly.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Wheeljack says, catching on to what he means, “is there—”

“Here.” Starscream reaches out and grabs a cloth and some gel from one of the shelves beside them, folding it into the hand not placed against his back. Wheeljack dips it into the solvent, squeezes the gel out onto the fabric, and gingerly skims it over Starscream’s plating—but he isn’t careful enough. His hand grazes against the bottom edge of a wing, and Starscream goes rigid. 

He quickly moves his hand away in shame. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine. Really it’s—it’s okay. It’s not like we’re doing a grand job of sticking to the rules this weekend,” he laughs nervously, and it’s a profoundly weird noise to hear come out of Starscream. “They’re sensitive and I get strange about them sometimes, but. It’s okay.” He leans in closer, braces himself against Wheeljack’s arms, “You can touch me,” he adds softly.

Wheeljack looks up at him searchingly, making sure it’s definitely alright. Starscream gazes back, pressing his wings into Wheeljack’s hands, which experimentally sweep against them with the cloth. Starscream bites his lip, but encourages him to continue with a nod of his head, and soon Wheeljack is spreading the solvent and gel onto their breadth, a rhythmic pattern that’s a mix between a wash and a massage.

Starscream is whimpering, though he looks like he’s trying his hardest not to as he clutches onto Wheeljack’s arm with a death grip. Suddenly, the cloth is forgotten, Wheeljack deserts it in the bubbles, trailing his fingers down the length of each of his wings.

“Wheeljack,” he warns, “I—I’ll.”

“You’ll?” Wheeljack murmurs, drawing Starscream closer. He moves one hand up to trace along the edge of an aileron, sliding the other up the middle of his back, where his wings connect.

Starscream shudders, wings twitching against Wheeljack’s fingers, and he curves against him, wrapping his arms around Wheeljack’s neck. “Right there,” he breathes, and Wheeljack mirrors his motions on both sides, delighting in how he’s making Starscream tremor. 

“Fuck, I’m, you, I’ll—fuck,” Starscream stutters, moaning at Wheeljack’s ministrations. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Starscream be so unintelligible before, but he’s savouring it all the same. Starscream seems to get a grip on his own thoughts as he leans over Wheeljack and licks the edge of his back wing.

Wheeljack bucks up involuntarily, which Starscream takes as an invitation to continue, licking along one side as he reaches his hand over to stroke the other.

He groans, brushing his hands harder against Starscream, losing his flow as he succumbs to the mind-numbing pleasure of Starscream’s touches. He moves his hips up again, grinding steadily against Starscream’s panel, hands traipsing down his wings. 

“Don’t stop,” Starscream orders, and Wheeljack isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the grinding or what he’s doing with his hands, so he continues with both. Starscream grips a wing in each hand and _pulls,_ and as Wheeljack shouts he’s briefly aware of the fact they’re overloading together, panels still closed, and that it’s one of the most enticing things he’s ever witnessed, ever experienced.

Starscream falls limp against him, burying his head against Wheeljack’s neck. “I think,” he pauses, panting, “we should recharge now.”

Wheeljack shrugs as best he can with Starscream laying all over him, reaching down between them to the plug, so the water can drain. Starscream, however, makes no attempt to get up, so—with a bit of difficulty—Wheeljack lifts him up, manually wrapping his legs around his waist. 

“Ooh,” Starscream says, in what can only be a post-overload haze, “you’re strong.”

He hums in reply, grabbing some towels off of the shelf as he carries Starscream out of the bathroom and makes the trek over to the bed. Throwing the towel down in what he hopes is a neat landing, he lays Starscream down on it carefully, wrapping another towel around his shoulders. 

They dry themselves off in silence, and get into bed that way, too. Wheeljack isn’t entirely sure what to do, because they may have been sleeping together for a good while, but they’d never… slept together. He made it routine to leave as soon as they were finished, never wanting to overstay his welcome. Wheeljack decides to just play it safe, and lays down at the very edge of the bed, practically hanging off of it, and with the size of the bed it feels like there’s about a hundred miles between them. 

“Do you really find me that repulsive?” Starscream says, resting a hand over his cockpit in mock offense—but his eyes are filled with mirth, playfully goading Wheeljack on.

Wheeljack turns over just to roll his eyes at him. “Obviously not.”

“Obviously?”

“Obviously.”

“How so?”

“Starscream.”

He laughs again, and it echoes lightly around the room. “What?”

“You don’t need me to tell you you’re attractive.”

“Don’t I?”

“Nah. It’s like, it’s like common knowledge. Even if ya hate Screamer’s guts, you still—”

“Wouldn’t mind rearranging his guts?” Starscream supplies, smiling cheekily back at him.

“Not what I was gonna say, but, uh, sure. Same sentiment.”

“You know, just for the sake of honesty,” Starscream begins, “you’re very handsome.”

“Me?” Wheeljack asks, and he knows it’s a stupid thing to say, but his mind has gone veritably blank. 

“Yes, you.” 

“Thanks,” he says, “I guess.”

“What?”

“Dunno. It’s just, kinda weird. To have the ruler of Cybertron tellin’ you you’re hot.”

“To have someone you fought in a war against for millions of years telling you you’re hot?”

“That too.”

“I mean, you’ve been in me. Surely that’s higher up on the list of weird than a sincere compliment.”

“Debatable,” Wheeljack replies, and he retracts his mask so Starscream can see the smile playing at his mouth.

They laugh together, happiness reverberating against the walls, and then Starscream turns to face Wheeljack, expression earnest. “It’s weird to think about us, all those years ago. I never knew how funny you can be. Never knew you also happen to think red’s the best color—which it is. Never knew you favored the right side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to where Wheeljack was currently spread out.

“Only because _you_ favor the left.”

“Primus, we really do sound like we’re conjunx’ed. We make fabulous actors—the delegates’ll be pleased.”

Wheeljack tenses, and curses himself. Every reminder that this was all just an act ached, tugged at his plating, and he felt so helpless against it all. Letting himself think that this is normal, that Starscream would ever want to fall asleep in the same bed as Wheeljack if he didn’t have to—it was dangerous. His thoughts were getting too far ahead of himself, of reality. But he relents, letting himself enjoy what he has in the moment anyway, and offers Starscream a small smile.

“Yeah, who knew?”

“Thanks for coming with me, by the way. I forgot to tell you earlier.”

“No problem, glad I could help out. I gotta say, I was a little surprised you asked me to tag along.”

“Who else would have me?” he says, huffing out a laugh, but Wheeljack can see there’s a sad seriousness in his optics, like what he’s saying is true—and Wheeljack supposes, to an extent, it is. 

“You’re a catch,” is all Wheeljack can manage to respond, and he follows it up with a weak smirk. He hopes it’s a solid cover enough to hide how his lips are twitching with the desire to lean over and kiss him, show him just how much he’s appreciated, craved, yearned for. 

“For what it’s worth, even if I did have a long line of potential suitors to bring with me, I… you’d be my first choice.”

Wheeljack goes silent for a moment, carefully trying to decide on what to say like he’s walking on eggshells. He’s overtly aware that he’s a step away from idiotically professing his true feelings, until it crashes just as quickly with Starscream’s follow up.

“Of everyone, I’d say you’re the least totally and utterly insufferable.”

“Ha, yeah, uh. Thanks.”

“What about you? If our places were switched. Who’d be your first choice? I’m intrigued.” Starscream edges a little closer as he says it, leaning up on his elbow and resting his head against a hand.

Wheeljack bites his lip, and decides to go with the easiest lie. “Ratchet, probably.” He tries to look bored as he says it, fiddling with the sheets, but he isn’t sure he’s ever been a convincing liar. Not like Starscream.

“Really?” Starscream asks, clearing his throat, “I wouldn’t have him pegged as your type.”

“What is my type, then?” 

Starscream’s quiet for a moment, and this time Wheeljack leans in, intent to hear his answer. He entertains the idea of Starscream’s mind wandering to that topic on occasion, tinged with jealousy, deliberating on the types of mechs Wheeljack would like—would find attractive. He knows the risk that comes with it, teetering on the brink of indulging in yet another senseless fantasy about Starscream, but it’s become a knee-jerk reaction now. As soon as there’s the slightest chance, the slightest hint of something, it encompasses Wheeljack’s thoughts, mind flitting to every impossible scenario it can throw at him. Of Starscream wanting him too, spending the nights lying awake thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, to love him. Laying awake and touching himself to the thought of Wheeljack… _no._ He would—that would never happen. He was _Starscream._ Wheeljack was being ridiculous.

Wheeljack’s awoken from his daydream by a sigh from Starscream. “I don’t know. Not Ratchet,” he decides, turning away from Wheeljack to stare at the wall opposite from them. 

He looks over at Starscream, then, and notices just how close they’ve grown during the course of the conversation. Starscream is an arm’s reach away. Wheeljack could wrap his arms around him right now, pull him close, lose himself in the make-believe of their marriage that has a fleeting two day countdown until it’s all over.

* * *

When Wheeljack wakes up, it’s to a dead weight pressed on top of his feet. He realises their legs have entangled during the night, and as he opens his eyes properly he registers Starscream right in front of him, thigh slotted perfectly between Wheeljack’s own. 

He doesn’t want to do anything to break the moment, so he offlines his optics entirely, allowing no room for temptation—no matter how much he wants to crack open an eye and watch Starscream in recharge, in the most peaceful state he’s ever seen him. 

He’s only allowed to enjoy it for a measly few minutes, however, as Starscream wakes at nearly the same time.

“Wheeljack? Are you awake?” he whispers, though it’s really more of a shout. A whisper-shout. Although, for Starscream, most whispers come out like a shout. It’s like he’s never heard of the concept of an indoor voice, and Wheeljack unfortunately finds it very endearing—as he does most of Starscream’s mannerisms.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m awake,” he mumbles, clumsily onlining his optics. They flicker a few times, and Starscream hovers over his face. 

“You look like you’ve just hard reset. Post-overload recharge really that good, hm?”

“Guess so,” he replies, pushing himself up so he can lean back against the pillows. “We got a couple hours till the meeting with the delegates. What do ya wanna do?”

Starscream leans over and grabs a booklet from the table by the bed, shoving it into Wheeljack’s hands. “We could order some breakfast. Apparently they offer this new service—or they’re offering it to _us,_ anyway—where they lace the food with energon, so it’s processable. It’s supposed to be really good.”

“Sounds great, Star,” he says groggily, and then immediately regrets it, “—Scream. Star...scream.”

“Wow, we’re doing pet names now? Someone’s committed to playing the part of the doting husband,” Starscream teases, tongue poking out of his teeth as he smirks back at him.

“A’right, ‘m goin’ back to sleep.”

“Killjoy! Come on, let’s order this food.” They’re shoulder to shoulder, resting against the headboard, and as Starscream leans over to read the menu his arm moves with him, resting against Wheeljack’s pillow—resting against Wheeljack. 

“I like the sound of this,” Starscream points to one of the options, “Picture makes it look good, at least.”

Wheeljack hums in approval, turning to the next page. “This menu’s huge. Just keeps goin’ on… they’ve got five different variations of omelet. Think I’m gonna go with this, though.”

“Funfetti waffles? Wheeljack, you’re on the kids section.”

“Hey, who’s the killjoy now?” 

Starscream just shakes his head, reaching for the phone. He orders the food, and they’ve only just woken the rest of the way up and gotten out of bed before there’s an entry request at the elevator, room service being rolled out on a cart.

They take the trays over to the dining table—the smaller one, just for two, not the one that’s long enough to sit twenty guests—and take the lids off of their trays at the same time. Both meals look especially decadent, syrup and sprinkles and berries drizzled evenly over their food like it was an art, tinted purple with the infusion of energon. 

Starscream’s ordered chocolate and raspberry pancakes, a marginally more sophisticated option than Wheeljack’s rainbow sprinkle concoction, but he seems just as pleased. He eyes Wheeljack as the first bite is taken, lets a few seconds pass by, and then Wheeljack is sighing and pushing his plate forward.

“I know that look. Sure, you can try some.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Starscream says, a blatant lie, “but I’ll accept your offer.” He cuts what is objectively the best piece—positively covered in syrup and sprinkles—but Wheeljack doesn’t comment, reaching between Starscream’s arms hanging over his own plate to nab a pancake. 

“I don’t think I remember offering you any of that.”

“Fair’s fair,” Wheeljack says casually, shoving it in his mouth before Starscream can protest further. 

He gives Wheeljack a disapproving look, but it seems to evolve into a smile without him even being aware of it, and he takes a bite of the waffle, pulling back from where he was crowding Wheeljack’s plate. “Like it?” he asks him, mouth full.

“S’alright. Doesn’t have the same sweetness as the funfetti, though. More rich. What about you?”

“Okay, here’s the verdict:—brace yourself—” he lifts up a hand, “funfetti sucks.”

“Oh, sorry, are these tiny colorful sprinkles beneath His Royal Highness?”

Starscream points his nose up into the air, “Yes,” he determines, “yes they are.”

Wheeljack laughs, flicking a stray sprinkle at Starscream’s plating, dodging more or less immediately as Starscream retaliates with a berry, watching in amusement as it bounces off his plating and lands atop a waffle. 

They continue eating, Wheeljack shovelling down his breakfast like there’s no tomorrow, and Starscream shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You, um…”

“Hmf?” Wheeljack asks, halfway through a bite of waffle, and Starscream shifts again, hand hovering reluctantly in the air. 

“You just—have something. Here,” he gestures to the spot on his own mouth, tapping it, “You have some syrup there. And a sprinkle.”

He wipes it with his free hand. “Gone?”

“Ha, no. It’s—look, it’s here.” Starscream’s hand reaches out like a flash, but slows as he wipes away the crumbs, lingering over the scars decorating Wheeljack’s face. For a split second, Wheeljack could have sworn Starscream was staring at his lips, but then he’s retreating, wiping his hand on a stray napkin.

* * *

Meeting the delegates had gone reasonably well, Wheeljack thinks; none of them seemed to be able to see past the pretence. They had played the part rather skilfully, though most of the attention was focused on greeting the various delegates—and now he worries that the gala will be strikingly different. All the attention—most of it, anyway—will be on them. Music. Dancing, probably. They’d met a few couples during the meet and greet, and Wheeljack had observed the way they interacted, their customs. It all hit a little too close to him for his liking.

Starscream finishes buffing polish onto Wheeljack’s chest, and tilts back to review his work, grinning. For the final touch he presents Wheeljack with a crown. It was made especially for the occasion, a similar shape to Starscream’s but embellished with green jewels rather than red, save for one slightly larger ruby gem in the centre. “Fit for a king,” he whispers, adjusting how it sits on Wheeljack’s helm. 

They make their way through the hotel, downstairs, past the banquet hall, into the most luxurious ballroom Wheeljack’s ever seen, golden and glittering, that accents Starscream’s paint job just right. He’s bathed in the reflections from the chandeliers—he looks, Wheeljack thinks, completely ravishing. 

He nudges a knuckle against Starscream’s palm before threading their fingers together, stopping in his tracks to give Starscream a quick smile—before promptly shutting his faceplate again. 

“You should leave that open,” Starscream says softly, turning to face him, “just for tonight, if you want.”

“My mask? Why?”

“You look incredible,” he mutters, and then his demeanour changes, posture straightening as he removes all traces of expression from his face. 

Wheeljack can’t find the words to respond, and he’s overwhelmingly thankful that a delegate has just sidled up to them, bowing. 

“Lord Starscream, Lord Wheeljack. It’s a pleasure to have you both attending tonight.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Starscream replies, plastering a fake smile on his face that Wheeljack can identify as such from a mile away. The delegate makes idle chat as Wheeljack nods along noncommittally, barely understanding half of the topics brought up. It must have gone on for at least ten minutes before Wheeljack looks at Starscream restlessly, squeezing his hand—and then Starscream is leading him away, heading to a corner away from the bustle of the main floor.

“Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just. Borin’.”

Starscream chuckles lightly at that, letting go of his hand. “As is the life of a leader.”

Wheeljack can see another delegate about to approach and pats Starscream shoulder, “I’ll go get us a drink.”

He makes his escape and heads over to the bar, knowing what to order Starscream without even having to think about it. Despite it, he has no idea what to order himself, and spends a good few minutes halfheartedly flicking through the menu. He notices a drink that looks distinctly familiar, and waves the bartender over to place his order.

“Hi, Darling,” Starscream says, appearing over his shoulder, and Wheeljack jolts unexpectedly. He’s about to say something until his eyes flicker to beside Starscream, to the delegate accompanying him. He nods politely over at the stranger, and then turns back to Starscream, sliding him the drink he’d ordered a few minutes prior.

“Ah, my usual. You know me so well!”

“Actually, I’d say it’s the other way around. Had no clue what to order till I noticed they had that drink you gave me on our flight.” Wheeljack almost forgets the presence of the delegate altogether, and he doesn’t miss the irony. All of this was simply an elaborate show to forge an alliance with the planet, and yet it felt so inherently natural, like they were the only people in the entire ballroom—the entire world. 

Starscream smiles into his glass, and then seemingly remembers he’s meant to be schmoozing the guest, attention snapping back to them. 

“Starscream was just telling me about how you’ve been together for the last thousand years. It’s almost incomprehensible, but it certainly seems like it. You have such an innate chemistry,” they enthused, and Wheeljack wished he’d kept his faceplate shut, unable to stop his cheeks growing hot. 

“Yes, well, we do hear that quite often,” he could hear Starscream replying, but it doesn’t fully register—his mind was too busy replaying the delegate’s compliment in his mind. Because that… that hadn’t been performative. That was just how they usually interacted, so regular an occurrence that Wheeljack wouldn’t even think to classify it as one of their closer moments. His mind drifted back to that morning, to waking up tangled in the sheets pressed next to Starscream. To them eating breakfast together, _sharing._ To just as they’d arrived, when Starscream had turned to him and asked to see his face, told him that he looked incredible. He wondered what prying eyes would think then, how complete outsiders would view them.

“Wheeljack? They’ve left now. Hello?”

“Hm?”

“Not drunk already, are you?” Starscream teases, absently sipping at the last dregs of his drink.

“Nah, just… lost in my thoughts. Together for a thousand years? That’s quite the backstory.”

“Mm,” he inches closer to Wheeljack, lips grazing the edge of his retracted faceplate, “it’s true, remember? We’re playing the part.” He takes a step back, abandoning his glass at the bartop, and reaches for Wheeljack’s hand. “Dance with me?”

“Nothin’ would make me happier,” Wheeljack declares, letting himself be pulled onto the ballroom floor. They dance together, slowly, ignoring the tempo of the songs being played, and Wheeljack feels kind of giddy. Starscream presses him closer, frantically looking from Wheeljack’s eyes to his lips, and then he says it. “Kiss me.”

The world stops around Wheeljack for a split second before he acts, capturing Starscream in a slow and passionate kiss. The sheer number of times he’d imagined it—and it could never compare to the real thing, of Starscream’s lips against his own, the slight brush of his fangs, the feel of his tongue. It electrifies every wire in his frame, sets him alight, and he can’t get enough. 

As Wheeljack kisses him, he realises for the first time that he’s been thinking about it all wrong. Finally, as he tastes the bittersweetness of Starscream’s drink in his mouth, he understands that isn’t what he was craving at all. He wants to taste Starscream under the layer of alcohol currently coating his tongue, and hopes if he just keeps kissing him—which he would happily do forever—it’ll happen.

Starscream pulls away first, breathless, and leans his face into Wheeljack’s neck. “Take me back to our room,” he says quietly, so only Wheeljack can hear. 

“We haven’t even been here an hour.”

“I don’t care.” He pauses for a moment, tone growing softer, “Don’t you want to take your loving conjunx back to the hotel and make love to him?” 

Wheeljack freezes, and prays Starscream doesn’t notice as he pulls away from Wheeljack’s neck and looks at him innocently, like he hasn’t just said something obscene. The way he says it—Wheeljack knows it’s a joke—but the way he says it, it sounds so real, _seems_ so real, that for a moment he can almost pretend it is.

“Starscream.”

He’s expecting Starscream to laugh, to throw his head back at the ridiculousness, to reassure him he was just joking. 

But he doesn’t. 

“Take me back to our room,” he repeats, unthreading their fingers so he can wrap his arm around Wheeljack’s neck, tugging him closer. And then quieter, under his breath, “Please. Now.” 

Wheeljack nods hurriedly, all but running out of the ballroom with him, through the reception, pressing the button for the elevator over and over until it opens. As soon as it does, he’s pushing Starscream up against the wall, mouthing at his neck.

“Wheeljack,” Starscream says, in between pants, “you still have to press the button to our room.”

“Fuck,” he groans, because now that he has his hands on Starscream—his mouth on Starscream, he can’t bear to part from him. He bends backwards and manages to _just about_ skim his fingertips over the button to their room, and as the elevator doors close he’s back on Starscream in a second, lifting his legs around his waist. 

“And what about the security cameras you were so concerned with?”

“Fuck the security cameras,” he says, nipping against Starscream’s neck, hoisting his legs up higher as he presses him into the wall. He gives him another heady kiss, and is only just aware of the bell notifying them they’ve reached their room, ignoring it as the doors open.

He grinds up against Starscream, groaning into the kiss, and feels Starscream’s panel open—lubricant dripping onto both Wheeljack and the floor. 

“Take me to bed,” he whines, trying to rut up against Wheeljack—who obeys, carrying Starscream through their room till he reaches the bed, crawling onto it with Starscream still pressed to his chest. He lays him back, recapturing his lips, and grinds into him again, letting his own panels transform.

Starscream rakes his hands down Wheeljack’s chest, mussing up the polish he’d applied not one hour earlier, and eases him over until he’s on his back. He kisses him again—quickly—and then moves lower down his frame. “This whole time,” he starts, pausing to lick the underside of Wheeljack’s spike, “I’ve been desperate to know how you taste.” Wheeljack groans, spike twitching in Starscream’s grasp.

“I’m not gonna last,” he warns, leaning up on his arms, “I think, God, I think even the sight of you with my spike in your mouth is enough to make me cum on the spot.”

“Ooh, ego boost. Let’s taste that theory, shall we?” Starscream suggests, in a tone that only ever means he’s up to no good, and then he stops his slow, teasing licks and takes Wheeljack in his mouth properly—still with gentle motions, and a leisurely pace. 

He takes him further and further until Wheeljack’s spike is nudging the back of his throat, and then moves up just to take him back down all over again, He wraps one of his hands around the base of Wheeljack’s spike, the part that has thus far remained untouched, mouth pulling off him with a pop. He darts his tongue out to lick the slit at the head of his spike, and Wheeljack is clutching the sheets so hard he’s nearly tearing straight through them. 

“Shit, Star,” he moans, Starscream bobbing his head a few times before he’s hitting the back of his throat again. He looks up at Wheeljack, crown sitting perfectly atop his head despite the movement, and then—and then he does something particularly divine with his mouth, and Wheeljack’s resolve breaks, transfluid pulsing down the back of Starscream’s throat. He swallows it with a moan, climbing back up to place a soft kiss to Wheeljack’s lips.

“Remind me to do that more often.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Wheeljack says, flipping their positions, “I definitely will.” 

He goes to spread Starscream’s thighs when he realises he’s kneeling in a puddle of lubricant, and his eyes light up with desire as he moves between Starscream’s legs.

“Givin’ me head really riled you up that much, huh?” he whispers, trailing his hand up Starscream’s thigh.

“I—you severely underestimate how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Long time, huh?” he asks, fingers still dancing over Starscream’s thighs, close to his array but never actually touching it. “You’ve been thinkin’ about it?”

Starscream scrunches his eyes shut, “Yes, okay—yes. I thought about everything.” 

“Everythin’?”

He opens his eyes, gripping onto Wheeljack’s arm. “Everything.” As he says it, Wheeljack finally skirts over his array, slipping two of his fingers inside of Starscream’s valve easily. 

“Oh, fuck. _More.”_

Wheeljack fingers him to a small overload, and, unlike usual, Starscream doesn’t rush him. He looks content, Wheeljack thinks, laid back in his collection of pillows with Wheeljack’s fingers scissoring him open. He can feel the lubricant dripping down his fingers, gushing onto the berth, and he thinks about how much he wants to taste Starscream, wants to lick up his lubricant and then make him release it all over again, into his mouth. 

He hasn’t eaten Starscream out again since that day in the lab, and he’s regrettably thought about it most every night since. How he’d tasted on his tongue, his soft moans, the way he tried to grind against Wheelack’s mouth. It was intoxicating, all of it was.

“Wheeljack.” 

He removes his fingers as Starscream says it, tone wavering and urgent, and looks at him questioningly. 

“What I said before,” he begins, reaching out to graze over Wheeljack’s shoulder, “About… about you—making love to me.” He swallows roughly, looking away, “I meant it.”

“Good,” Wheeljack whispers, kissing his cheek as he laces their fingers together, “I’ve wanted to do this since our first night together.”

Starscream bites his lip, unsure. “You have?” 

Rather than replying, Wheeljack decides to show him just how much he’s thought about it. He weaves between his legs, closing the gap between them with a measured kiss. They stay like that for a while, prolonging the movement, perfectly satisfied to just feel each other’s lips, something that was so new—and, in Wheeljack’s case, had been more or less sequestered up until now.

Wheeljack reaches down to stroke Starscream’s spike, giving him a few lazy pumps, and Starscream squeezes Wheeljack’s other hand, tugging it closer. “Get inside me, already,” he says, laughing, and leans up to kiss him again, smiling into it. 

They don’t break the kiss as Wheeljack enters him. Starscream falls back against the pillows with a gasp and Wheeljack chases his lips, trailing kisses down his neck. “Hold on,” he says suddenly, drawing back, and he’s about to take off the crown he’d all but forgotten about when Starscream catches his arm. 

“Leave it on.”

“Ah,” he replies knowingly, flashing him a devilish grin before his mouth is at Starscream’s neck again.

“It’s not like that!” Starscream says—a little too defensively—as he arches up into Wheeljack’s touch. “We should just make the most of what little time we have left.”

“Y’know,” Wheeljack murmurs, thrusting slowly back into Starscream, “I can keep the crown after this weekend is over. If ya ever wanna revisit this.”

Starscream whimpers, wrapping his arm around Wheeljack’s neck, trying to follow his mouth with his own. 

“I’m startin’ to think maybe it _is_ a little like that,” Wheeljack speculates, and Starscream moves his arm down to caress his cheek.

He hums, gazing up into his eyes. “Maybe a little…” he admits, “you look beautiful without the crown. But seeing you in it—I kind of wanted you to take me then and there.”

Wheeljack makes a choked-off sound at that, rolling his hips. The gentle pace he sets has him feeling every node and ridge of Starscream’s valve, his mind going fuzzy with the pleasure. “Just like that, Star, just like that,” he says, breathless, and pushes in to the hilt, brushing against Starscream’s ceiling node.

Starscream moans, never tearing his eyes from Wheeljack—and Wheeljack can’t take it anymore. “I love you,” he blurts out, and then he freezes, mask snapping shut as his finials flash in terror. “Shit, shit, I didn’t mean to—”

He’s cut off as Starscream leans up, kissing softly against the outside of his faceplate. He lets go of Wheeljack’s hand to cup the back of his helm, tracing a hand up his back as he wraps his legs around him. “I know, I know,” he whispers, “me too. This whole time.”

Wheeljack’s mask all but falls open at the confession, and he thrusts into Starscream just to get close enough to kiss him properly. They move together this time, a rhythm all their own, and Wheeljack takes Starscream’s spike in his hand again, thumb sweeping against the pre-fluid oozing out of the tip. 

“Oh, Wheeljack,” he whimpers, smoothing a hand down Wheeljack’s back, “I love you. Fuck, I—I—” he shakes as he says it, head rolling back, and they overload together, Starscream’s valve rippling against Wheeljack’s spike as he spills into him.

Wheeljack goes lax against Starscream, wrapping him in his embrace, and they lie together for a while; neither saying anything—neither needing to. 

“Wheeljack?”

He lifts his head up from where he had been nuzzling against his neck. “Yeah?”

“You’ve probably got my transfluid on you now. Actually, you definitely have,” Starscream points to Wheeljack’s chest as he leans up, to where his transfluid had smeared against both of their plating. “Well, it’s a good look.”

Wheeljack pecks lazily at his lips and then gets up, shuffling to the end of the bed. “I’ll go get a towel.”

He cleans them up tenderly, in silence, and he’s about to lie down to sleep before Starscream’s grabbing at his arm.

“Kiss me again. I need you to kiss me again.” 

There’s a sense of fear, of urgency in his optics, and Wheeljack obliges immediately, gently pressing him into the berth under his weight.

Starscream breaks off the kiss breathlessly. “No one’s ever said that to me before,” he reveals, “that—that they love me.”

“They’re crazy,” Wheeljack says, peppering kisses all over his cheeks, “they’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“Are they?” Starscream asks, and he sounds so vulnerably raw that it stops Wheeljack in his tracks. Starscream looks up at him searchingly, an openness to his emotions that he’s never seen—never been allowed to see—before.

“Yes,” Wheeljack whispers, nodding his head hurriedly, “Yes yes yes. They don’t know what they’re missin’.”

Starscream lets out a huff, shaking his head, but he pulls Wheeljack closer, pressed on top of him, and from this position Wheeljack can feel how hard Starscream is trying to reign in the way he’s shaking. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning up to look him in the eyes, “I love you.” 

It feels so natural and weightless on his tongue, and now that he’s finally said it he can’t find it in him to stop. 

“I love you too.”


End file.
